You grasp life with an iron fist
Wrestling it to the ground day by day
In battles among falling petals
Under night skies…
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You grasp life with an iron fist
Wrestling it to the ground day by day
In battles among falling petals
Under night skies…
“Keep writing poems, friend.”
I tell the woman facing me.
“You still have more to say…
Whisper sweet nothings into the night’s listening ear. Tell it your secrets. It’ll listen, and never judge, and continue to hold you as close as ever.
I can’t fit. I can’t find the right door to pass through. The sunlight is rapidly fading. Snow is falling all around me and all I can think about when I look at the flakes is how they might look like the ashes after my everything burns to nothing.
Wolves are circling. Closing in. I can hear their howling signals.
I’m running out of time.